


The Joyful

by mskullgirl



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:43:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2256315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mskullgirl/pseuds/mskullgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The streets of Paris have long been a haven for the cities undesirables. Once again there are whispers of revolution. There are riots in the streets and anger in the air. Jean “The Jack” Valjean is a small time drug dealer and highschool drop out, trying to support his impoverished family. The tension is rising when he first lays eyes on a strange, dark haired boy, known to him only as Javert. Overtime they form a tentative friendship although neither are willing to reveal their secrets. All the while the cities poor grow angrier and the boys begin to see their peaceful little world crumbling down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Joyful

            The morning tastes like honey in Paris. The sun lazily makes its way over the horizon, painting the cobblestones a muted gold. As usual a ring of a cellphone is what breaks the spell. It’s answered quickly but the day has already begun. Jean tilts his head back, catching the earliest rays of sunshine on his face. He breathes in the clean smell while he still can. By midday the streets would reek of tobacco, pot, sweat, and desperation. Junkies had no appreciation for the sacredness of mornings.

            Still, the man can’t help feeling optimistic as he climbs on his ancient bike and pedals away. His stomach is empty and his backpack is full of sweet sickness that promises money. Any manner of things could happen on a day like today.

 

            By 8 o’clock he is sitting outside a café drinking coffee. The bitterness is welcome and it carries warmth and caffeine through him until he is well and truly awake. He sips from the mug slowly, though he feels guilty about it. There are seven little ones who will shortly be stirring in their beds, not to mention a heap of bills piled up before the door. And the vials and powders and pills won’t deliver themselves. Reluctantly he rises and pedals off again. The sunshine feels less warm somehow.

 

            Jean “The Jack.” 20 years old, more acquainted with the insides of juvenile detention centers then those of schools. Average build but deceptively strong, hence the nickname. Brown eyes that sparkle like champagne and too-long sandy hair that falls over his face. It is easy to miss the numbers tattooed on the inside of his wrist.

 

            He’s biking home quickly now, his bag empty and coins jingling in his pocket. Its dark outside and its gotten chilly but he’s flying now. He imagines the looks of the children’s faces when he comes home, arms overflowing with goodies. Bread and cheese, fresh eggs and sausage, bottles of thick, creamy milk. His stomach growls at the though. He doesn’t see the leg jutting out in front of him until its too late. Head over heels he topples to the pavement landing flat on his back. Before he can get breath back in his lungs there’s a knife at his throat.

            “Turn out your pockets.”

            “Go fuck yourself.” He wheezes, glaring up at the unfamiliar face. The punch is painful but not unexpected. The blows keep coming until the world slows to a soft hum. When he wakes up he has a split lip and several bruises ribs. His wallet and backpack are gone and his bike lies in a heap a little ways away. The cool evening air stings. It tastes like saltwater.


End file.
